My Dearest -----,

I leave now for the desert. The feeling of threat you expressed when last we spoke tears at my head and heart to this day still, hardening with the years during which I had hoped it would soften and wither.

I remember most about you the gestures: for me to come or go, or for us to sit. Who shares them now? Who presses his cheek to your back in the dark? Do you still pray for me, or have you cast even that burden of our love aside?

It won’t please you to know that I find you with me often, growing on the lips of an unfamiliar girl on the streetcar or from the sound of the ringing phone waking me in the night, but it is this prevailing intimacy that permits me to write you now. It is this remaining spirit of our time together that carries me to morning light.

Yes, I leave now for the desert, but should I re-emerge from the sands, I will again return to the place where we met in hope that your courage trumps your trepidation.

Much love,

d.